


memories of the mother

by mosaicos



Series: matsuoka [3]
Category: Free!
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-03 02:13:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1727354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mosaicos/pseuds/mosaicos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His growing smile is worth letting go of thoroughness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> gou and rin's parents are the cheesiest love story no one tell me otherwise........ i'm upset at them *pathetic whine

It was hard to say what exactly made her fall for Matsuoka Tora. 

'Everything' is unlikely to clear up the matter. 

Minami Shinju was raised in a wealthy family; she always had it all—loving parents who were successful entrepreneurs, a home where nothing was ever lacking, relatives who were more like immediate family rather than a separated muscle in the organisation. She was smart—"you will go places, Shinju"—and abstract concepts were her specialty. She had a knack for numbers, a goal for precision so strong that she could undertake a new task and get it done perfectly with just the provided instructions.

Always in the top ten of her class, she didn't expect anything to change when her family moved from Saitama in the Kanto Prefecture to a small, sleepy town in the Tottori Prefecture in order to open up their new business branch there. 

One thing she never cultivated despite her privileged upbringing was the arrogance for the humble nor the disdain for a place hardly as fast-paced as the larger cities in Japan.

She liked the city of Tottori. She preferred the city of Tottori when her boyfriend came over to visit—something he now did every single day, calling her "Shin-chan" as if it were the most romantic and natural thing in the world (it was).

Shinju had to give her family credit where it was due; they were surprisingly supporting. While she went to university, despite being with child, she couldn't be more thankful for her family's wealth than she was at this time in her life; she could pursue her own goals of becoming a professional without the in-between worries other students struggled with. Her biggest admirer was, as usual, Tora. 

Tora, who decided to not go into university, who decided to quit swimming competitively, who decided to live and work as a fisherman for their sake.

"Aren't you overworking yourself?" she remarks as she looks up from her notes, scribbling, underlining, reading, preparing for her exam. 

The guy in question is lying down on her bed, on his back, arms spread out. She knew he would say he wasn't, but she could distinctly hear the soft whistle from between slightly parted lips—the signature trait of his sleeping. Of course, "I'm not," he's not exactly asleep yet. "Shin-chan, you know all that by heart, let's nap together."

It is true that the subject was not difficult for her, but there was nothing wrong with being thorough. 'Thorough' wasn't part of Tora's vocabulary though, and the thought made her break into a smile. _We fit well_ , she always told herself.

"I have to leave soon," the strained whine came from his sitting up on the bed, rubbing at sore muscles.

Thoughtfully, she casually says, "stay the night."

His growing smile is worth letting go of thoroughness. Sitting, leaning against him, with his chin on her shoulder and hands soothing the baby to sleep, speaking nonsense about their future and their child and their lives was much more gratifying than studying. She would laugh, overjoyed, and he would breathe it in.

He was the right amount of air she needed to float, and she was right weight of an anchor to keep him centred. Tora burnt past her defences so easily, with his burning eyes and warm laughs and tender hands; if she was like the ocean to him, he was like the force of fire, never stopping, no matter how little the kindle.

It didn't even matter that she got an 81 on her exam.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They speak quietly; Rin is tired of waiting for his room to be done—remodeling couldn't be finished fast enough, Gou's birthday was coming up, the children wanted to go fishing too, they should probably get a pet soon ("—a cat, if you're feeling particularly hateful of birds, Shin-chan"), should they perhaps consider a third child? ("—definitely getting you that pet!") And, eventually, silence. A comfortable one.

It was noisy.

The birds which would customarily perch themselves on the tree in their garden were being obnoxious in their chirping and tweeting and the occasional squawk. It was barely four in the morning, and the unusual behaviour forced Shinju out of her— _their_ bed, his half empty but for his lingering warmth on the mattress and pillow. 

A fisherman's morning began before dawn, preparations before setting off carried on in the dark. Several times Shinju would miss when Toraichi bounces out of the door to a fishing expedition, barely registering a fond goodbye kiss in her sleep.

Something felt incredibly off about this time, their silent routine changed. 

Regardless, she heads down the stairs and into the kitchen, where the smell of ground coffee pushes her even further awake, the lighting awkward and unknown this time of day.

"They woke you up, huh?"

Toraichi looks rushed, seeming to bite into his toast as he gulps down hot coffee down his throat. His mind is already out the door, his body working to catch up.

"Unusually noisy," Shinju yawns into a hand, strands of red hair caught between her fingers, her mane a mess without a proper look in the mirror. And that's when he slows down, smiling widely but with lips closed, gentle and fond. He sits down with her at the table, hand on top of hers, caressing skin lightly with his thumb.

They speak quietly; Rin is tired of waiting for his room to be done—remodeling couldn't be finished fast enough, Gou's birthday was coming up, the children wanted to go fishing too, they should probably get a pet soon ("—a cat, if you're feeling particularly hateful of birds, Shin-chan"), should they perhaps consider a third child? ("—definitely getting you that pet!") And, eventually, silence. A comfortable one.

He doesn't stop holding her hand in his, even as they head back upstairs so Toraichi can mutter words to his children and kiss their foreheads goodbye, may it last for the two weeks to come, even as they head back downstairs and Toraichi starts strapping his bags and belongings onto his back and arms.

Shinju breaks the silence first.

"Take care of yourself," the darkness of the cold morning gives them a moment of privacy more precious than any other place with shut doors. "And have fun, too. I'll see you when you get back."

"Tanned and smelling of fish. You'll keep away for _days_."

"It's your allure, if nothing else."

They kiss, properly, and Toraichi's hand lingers in her red hair. "Wait for me, I'll be back in no time."

That's when he lets go of her hand, lets go of her altogether, and starts moving towards the gate of their house to start his light jog towards the harbour. Shinju, however, follows him suddenly, urged by a feeling of dread she can't quite let down; an excitement that tells her she'll regret staying still, firm and calculating.

She's flustered when, loud to rival the birds, she voices, "I love you, Tora!" 

His response is curious, almost sad, yet his grin is tremendous and childish, managing to double back to hug her, quickly letting go. 

"You too!" 

Then he's off.

***

And then he's gone.

  
***  


She didn't get a phone call, despite the many that she made, when the news started their alert on a freak typhoon suddenly accosting their shores. Her children were arguing over something or another in their temporarily shared room and her attention was elsewhere when they knocked on her door.

Fishermen, none from her husband's crew. Their eyes were downcast, their expressions sullen magnified by the rain. 

They called it a tragic accident. 

No survivors.

  
***  


" _Don't say it!_ "

"Matsuoka-san, please—"

"Don't you dare— say it— Tora _isn't_ —"

It was the first time Rin and Gou both had heard their mother scream like that; a mixture of a shout and a sob, crumbling voice at the end of each spoken word.

" _He said he would return_ —!"

When the children step up to look at the commotion by the front door, they find their mother in the arms of one of the older fishermen, a friend of their father, heaving and shaking uncontrollably, forcing out pieces of sentences, not quite stringing thoughts together.

"—I woke up—"

"—the birds..."

"—saw him off—"

"The kids—oh god, Rin, Gou—"

No more Matsuoka Toraichi.

By some cruel irony, she got to say goodbye to him. She shouldn't have let him go. She should have— she should have—

"...Mum? What's happenin'?"

She turns to look at their children wide-eyed and afraid, uncertain of what is happening, very unlikely to even imagine a world where a parent could go missing, could die so easily. He promised her, for so many years, he would never leave her side; they would do this together—having a family, growing old. She didn't doubt she could manage the children, but who would manage _her_? Who would look after her as fondly as he does—did? The late Matsuoka Toraichi. Nevermore in present or future tense, now forever in the past and unknown predictions.

Rin's eyes were already welling up, Gou's hand tightly holding her brother's, their previous quarrel forgotten. 

—no, it wasn't Rin who was crying, cheeks wet; it wasn't Gou holding on so tight, hands shaking. It was hers, Shinju's, mind gone blank; it was her tears unstopping, it was her hands on their shoulders, her knees on the floor, weak and unbelieving, gasping for a reality that would not be this unkind.

"Your... Your father, he..." 

Where would the shrine go? Would they find his body? Why couldn't he _swim back_ —?

  
***  


The birds stopped perching on their tree since that day. Maybe she had imagined them; the kids hadn't woken up that morning.

It is so very quiet, now, though.


End file.
